


our way of saying 'i love you'

by odyssxus



Series: Old Guard Kinkmeme Prompts [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Andy can't say no to Nicky, Andy is NOT pleased, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Michaelangelo hits on Nicky, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova is a Little Shit, Possibly out of character but I don't really care for this, Protective Andy, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odyssxus/pseuds/odyssxus
Summary: Andy loved her family. She loved Quynh, though she missed her lover constantly. She adored Joe and his easy laugh. She had loved Lykon and the stories he told. Loved Booker for all his faults. And she was coming to love Nile as well, and knew she would cherish the years she got to spend with her.But Nicky would always be special to her - the little brother she had never had.  There was just something about him that had made her want to protect him - to keep him safe and happy.~~~Or, Five times Andy was Nicky’s big sister, + one time he was her incorrigible little brother.1. Training2. Spoiled3. Protective4. Favouritism5. Comfort6. + 1 time Nicky annoys Andy
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Old Guard Kinkmeme Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943380
Comments: 176
Kudos: 702





	1. Training

**Author's Note:**

> Idea from [THIS](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3653.html?thread=986949#cmt986949) kinkmeme prompt :) Thanks for the idea! 
> 
> A 5+1 thing, cause every author has to do one eventually.

“They have potential.” 

Andromache looked at Quynh, one eyebrow raised. “Perhaps,” she finally acquiesced. She looked back over to the boys - for they were boys to her - watching them spar with a critical eye. Yusuf was good. He came from a merchant family, but had supplemented his work by working as a mercenary and a soldier for years, and that training showed. Nicolò on the other hand… it was obvious that he was not a natural fighter. He had talent, yes, and some strength, but not like Yusuf did. 

“He’s too kind,” she said grumpily. That would only hurt him in the long run. 

Quynh hummed. “I want to teach him to use a bow,” she said. He’d shown some proficiency with it already, and Andromache suspected that he would prefer to be out of the fray. 

“He would be good at a distance,” she agreed. 

Quynh eyed her in amusement. “Why Andromache,” she laughed, “do you want him away from the fighting? He’s good enough to hold his own against any mortal - it’s just us he falters against.” 

Andromache gave her lover a dark look, but did not argue. They’d been travelling with the two boys for nearly six months now, a drop in the ocean of their lifetime, but Andromache already loved them both dearly. There was something about Nicolò though, that made her want to care for him and protect him from all harm. Quynh felt the same way, though in more of a teasing manner. She was more like Yusuf in personality; loud, happy, and always up for a conversation. She was less kind by far, and more wild, but the similarities were undeniable. Nicolò, on the other hand, was almost painfully shy at times, despite being over a century old by now. He was brilliant, as was Yusuf, but it took more to get him to talk and contribute. He also seemed to mourn nearly every life he took, fiddling with his rosary after killing someone. Andromache hadn’t been able to find it in her heart to tease him about that. She had with Yusuf, easily, when he prayed to his god, but for some reason she didn’t want to with Nicolò. She didn’t want to risk even potentially hurting his feelings. It was an odd sensation. 

“Is this what it is like to have children?” she demanded. “All I want to do is keep him happy and away from harm, despite him being more than able to defend himself.”

Quynh laughed out loud, briefly drawing the men's attention before they went back to sparing. Or flirting, if Andromache wanted to be accurate. They were absolutely disgusting together those two. She was sure Yusuf spoke more words of love in an hour to Nicolò than she had _ever_ said to Quynh or Quynh to her despite their vast age. And while Nicolò did not often return the words, his eyes were some of the most expressive Andromache had ever seen. She was not surprised that they inspired Yusuf to spout off poetry multiple times a day. 

“The great Andromache of Scythia,” Quynh teased, “turned soft by our Nicolò’s blue eyes and happy smile.” Her grin changed to something softer. “Perhaps it is, or akin to having little brothers. I certainly want to keep them safe. Which, frankly, is a ridiculous urge.” 

Andromache laughed as well, before standing. “Think you could teach Yusuf to at least be proficient at the bow?” 

Quynh made a face. “I’ll make sure he can hit a target, but he doesn’t have the temperament or the feel for it.” 

Andromache shrugged, reaching down to pull her lover to her feet and kissing her quickly. “You try to teach him to at least shoot a target, and I’ll help Nicolò gain some more confidence in himself."

Quynh shook her head fondly, laughing in a low tone, but did not argue. She walked over to the men happily, pulling a protesting Yusuf away to find wood to make a bow of his own. They would likely be gone all day. 

Nicolò gave her his small barely there smile, passing her his water skin even as he panted for breath. 

“You first,” she ordered. “I’ve been sitting all afternoon, you’re the one whose been practising.” 

Nicolò flushed slightly, fiddling with his sleeve. He was wearing one of Yusuf’s tops, and it was slightly too large for him. He was tall and broad shouldered, but tended towards lankiness, while Yusuf was ever so slightly taller and larger, and more muscled. They made a wonderful pair. “I am not very good,” he said, voice full of self depreciation. “Not like you and Quynh. And Yusuf.” 

Andromache took his hand in hers, smiling despite herself. He had calluses from before his death, from writing and copying as a Priest. Just a few from fighting. “You are not a natural fighter, no,” she agreed. “But you are talented Nico,” she said. She didn’t want to see the disappointed look in his eyes. 

Quynh was right. She was being ridiculous. 

He smiled again, passing her the skin. She took a long swig, savouring the taste. They were in Greece, near to the sea and to several mountain streams. The air was cool and crisp, the water bright blue, and the landscape wide and open save for a small forest. They’d settled in the outskirts of the woods, out of sight from the rode, but still close enough to know if someone was coming. It was idyllic, and a perfect place to get to know the newer immortals. They’d spent the first several months of their companionship fighting and travelling, and were all in need of a break. 

“Come,” she said. “Let’s see your stance again.” 

He obligingly raised his sword, face taking on a look of concentration. She walked around him, making small adjustments to his stance. He was a perfectionist, and too fearful of making mistakes. She would have to help him get over that. She pushed at a vertebrae between his shoulder blades, encouraging him to straighten his spine. “You have good form,” she told him honestly. 

His lips quirked in a barely there smile, gone in an instant. 

She made him raise his left arm by a small amount, before reaching for Yusuf’s scimitar. She didn’t think Nicolò was ready to fight against her labrys, not yet. He would if she told him to, but she didn’t want to make him feel weak. She swung the blade first, smiling in approval when he swept his longer sword up to defend himself. He ducked down and spun away, putting distance between them before jabbing in with the point of the sword. Clever boy. He had longer arms than her, and a longer weapon. It would be foolish not to take advantage of that. 

She was faster though, even going easy on him, and stepped in close, swinging the blade up and around. He blocked again, and quickly swung his sword again. She blocked him this time, and darted in close. 

He moved slightly too slowly, and the tip of the blade sliced through his bare forearm, immediately drawing blood. She dropped the blade immediately, reaching out to grab his arm and watched anxiously as the wound healed. She swore. 

“I am sorry Nico,” she said honestly, wiping the blood away with her sleeve. He pulled back. 

“Don’t get your clothing dirty,” he scolded. “And it’s healed already, see?” 

She rolled her eyes skyward. “That’s not the point,” she grumbled. 

He looked confused. “You stabbed Quynh several days ago,” he pointed out. “And have cut Yusuf more then once.” 

Andromache nodded in agreement, still frowning at his blood covered arm. “Come,” she ordered. “Let’s have some wine.” 

He looked confused, but followed her as he always did, settling down close to her side. She threw an arm over his shoulder easily, wanting the closeness. 

“I am sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

He chucked slightly. “I’m not good enough to avoid it,” he said. “It was my fault more than yours.” He paused, then said: “I’m sorry as well. You’re all much more skilled than I am, I know I’m only holding you back.” 

Andromache was silent for a moment, digesting what he said. Then she very deliberately smacked him upside the head. 

“Ow! Andromache!” 

She put her arm back around her shoulder like she hadn’t hit him, and pulled him so his head was resting on her shoulder. His long hair fell in his face, and she could hear him blow it out of the way. 

“Don’t say that about yourself,” she scolded. “You are a fine fighter - there is no shame in not taking pleasure in it like Quynh and I do. And Yusuf has more practise than you do. You will catch up to him soon enough.”

She could practically feel him frown. “What is it?” she demanded. She didn’t like when any of them kept secrets from her, but got particularly annoyed when Nicolò did. He didn’t do it often, and was terrible at lying. She could always tell. 

“You hold back,” he said, a frown clear in his voice. “When you spar with me. You do not with Yusuf, though he is also much less skilled with you, nor do you with Quynh, even though she is your lover.”

“I don’t hold back,” she protested honestly. “I simply don’t stab you. That is the only difference, I promise you.” 

“But why do you treat me differently?” he asked in a rush, sounding both confused and frustrated. It was an odd tone for him. He was usually calm and collected. This must have been genuinely bothering him. 

“Because…” she drawled with exaggerated annoyance. “Yusuf is my brother. You on the other hand,” she paused for a moment, pulling him down into a headlock so that he was almost in her lap, laughing as she shook him gently. “You dear Nicolò, are my _baby_ brother.” 

“I’m over one hundred years old!” he protested, only pushing against her grip halfheartedly. “And I’m only three years younger then Yusuf.” 

She pulled his long hair gently with her other hand. “You’re both baby immortals,” she agreed, for they were. Even Quynh seemed little more than a child to her at times. “But you’re the baby of the family. Not Yusuf.” 

He relaxed his weight, no longer fighting against her, until his head was resting in her lap. He looked up at her with his too blue eyes, long hair falling back. Even with the slight scruff on his sharp jawline he looked like a child to her. She suspected he always would. She stroked a strand of hair away from his face, feeling a surge of love for him. He and Yusuf had brought so much joy to their lives. She and Quynh were happy, yes, but happier with them in it. Even if Quynh was still annoyed they were having to spend eternity with two _men_. 

“I love you too Andromache,” he smiled, face open and kind as it always was around their little family. 

She gave in and leaned down to kiss his forehead. He blushed, but gave her a pleased look. She knew a little of his past, of a dead mother and sister, two much older brothers, a violent and cruel father, and a cold Church that made him feel guilty for being who he was. She doubted he’d received much love and attention before meeting Yusuf. And while Yusuf certainly did not shy away from showing his love, Andromache would not hesitate in adding to it. “I’m still sorry for hurting you,” she admitted. It was an odd feeling. She wasn’t used to guilt. 

He squeezed her hand. “There is nothing to forgive,” he insisted. He paused, looking over at the tree line. “Do you think they’ll come back with supper, or should we go catch some fish?” 

She pushed him gently, urging him to roll to his feet. He did, then reached down to help her. “If Quynh’s making Yusuf try and hunt with a bow we’ll be waiting for a long time,” she said, stretching. “That man has no talent with it.” 

Nicolò laughed softly. “He can learn,” he protested. “If I can learn to fight you, he can learn a bow.” 

She pushed him gently, before gathering up their fishing supplies. “Come little brother,” she teased. “I want to eat at some point today.” 

He rolled his eyes again, but was blushing bright red above his scruff, so Andromache knew he was not truly annoyed. “I bet you a drachma that I catch the bigger fish,” he said, blue eyes wide and happy. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. He was good at fishing (he was more patient than any of them) but this was a point of pride. “You’re on,” she declared. 

Several hours later the bet was forgotten, and they sat laughing round the fire, eating perfectly cooked fish, drinking wine, and eating fruit. When Quynh and Yusuf eventually returned (without having caught anything, as Andromache had expected, or have even made a proper bow for Yusuf) it was to find them asleep by the fire, Nicolò’s head on Andromache’s stomach, hands tangled together. They joined them, falling asleep in a comfortable pile of bodies, with their horse sleeping nearby. 


	2. Spoiled

Ioseph knew instantly that this was going to be a problem. He loved animals, he really did, but also understood that they didn’t exactly have a lifestyle that supported having a pet. 

The cat was adorable - probably a little on the old side with gray around its muzzle, a silky coat, and warm brown eyes. 

Nikolas had fallen in love immediately, and was feeding the stay bits of his own much needed food without even a backwards glance to Ioseph. “Aren’t you beautiful,” he murmured, stroking over the animal's head. The cat leaned into his touch eagerly, tongue lolling out of its mouth. It was a small thing, but undeniably cute, with long silky fur the same colour as Nikolas’ hair. 

“We can hardly keep a cat my love,” Ioseph pointed out, putting one hand on Niko’s shoulder. The other man ignored him, reaching into a bag to share some dried meat with the animal. The cat looked at him with absolute adoration, and Niko’s expression somehow softened even more, his smile wide and completely at peace. 

Ioseph sighed. He would be backing Niko on this, he knew , if Niko decided he wanted to push keeping the animal. Anyone or anything that put that expression on his beloved face was wonderful in his book. He just didn’t see how he could get the women to agree, or how this would end well. Well. Quynh would want to keep the animal as well, he suspected. Andromache was simply too practical to allow it. And for good reason. They were not fighting now, but that could change at the drop of a hat, and they spent much of their time travelling. It was no life for a cat. Even one as sweet as this one. 

Niko nodded, a mournful look on his face, and Ioseph winced. He didn’t want to think of what Niko’s reaction would be when the cat inevitably died. It would almost be better to just leave it here now. It was a stray, yes, but clearly well fed and well loved. He could (maybe) nip this in the bud now. 

“Come,” Ioseph said. “We must meet Andromache and Quynh. The cat will be fine.” 

Niko finally stood, giving the happy animal one last pat, and turned to leave. Ioseph laced their fingers together, wanting to give him the comfort. After several minutes they heard a sound, and he turned round with his hand on his knife, while Niko’s went automatically to his sword. 

It was the cat. It was following them with a happy expression on its face, tail high. 

He closed his eyes, gathering himself for what was to come. There was absolutely no way Niko would consent to leave the cat behind, not now. His love was, as he suspected, looking at him with wide blue eyes, a slight frown on his mouth. He wasn’t purposefully giving him any sort of begging look, that wasn’t his Niko’s way unless he was trying to get something from Andromache, but nonetheless Yusuf knew he would not be able to deny him anything when faced with such a mournful expression. Quynh and Andromache teased that he would never deny Nicolò anything, and they were correct. 

But this was going to be difficult. “Niko…” 

“It wants to come with us love,” Niko said briskly, reaching down to allow the cat to smell his fingers. It did, then sat at Niko’s feet, looking up at him with perfect eyes.

Ioseph’s lips twitched. The cat definitely had fallen for Niko. Not that he could blame it. He sighed. “I suppose we should name it then,” he said. “And see if it’s a boy or a girl.” 

Niko’s lips twitched in a small smile. “She’s a girl,” he said. “My father had hunting dogs, and there were always cats around to catch the mice.” He frowned, as he always did when he was reminded of his life before his first death and his father, before the cat distracted him by licking at his fingers. “I loved them all.” 

Ioseph put a hand on Niko’s shoulders, squeezing hard. He had been lucky, he knew that. He had had wonderful parents and sisters, and an extended family that had loved him well. Niko’s mother had died when he’d been a small child, and his father had been cruel and often violent. And while he’d escaped that by becoming a priest, that had come with its own trauma and seemingly never ending guilt, though he had made some friends. 

If the cat reminded him of happier times he would get to keep the cat. 

**_###_ **

Niko half expected the cat to abandon him. He had no more food to give her and, as Ioseph had mentioned, she was clearly well fed despite being a stray. She had no reason to follow him. He wanted her to, yes, but knew better than to hope. He was also practical, and knew they should not keep a cat, it simply would not work. Ioseph, he knew, was also worried about his heart being broken when she inevitably died. And it would be, but he’d lost pets before and had recovered. 

He smiled when they came to the small cottage they were staying in while in Greece, the cat still at his side, walking around his ankles. Ioseph chucked at him, before drawing him in for a kiss. The cat leaned against his legs, a comforting weight that he hadn’t realised he’d missed. 

“And what,” a new voice drawled, full of amusement, “is this?” 

Ioseph chuckled, throwing up his hands as if to say it was not him. Niko just gave Andromache a slight smile. “She followed me home,” he explained simply. 

She gave him an unimpressed look, one thin eyebrow raised. “Did she?” 

He just nodded. “I’ll make dinner then, shall I?” He walked past her into the house, stopping to kiss her on the cheek. She rolled her eyes, but let him pass, eyeing the cat as she trotted at his heels. “Where is Quynh?” 

Andromache followed him, sitting at the table and pouring them some wine. Ioseph wrinkled his nose and went out to get himself some water from the well instead. “She wanted to explore,” Andromache finally answered. “You know how restless she gets.” 

Ioseph laughed. “Nearly as restless as you,” he teased. Niko smiled slightly knowing it was true. Andromache had left the month before, returning after several weeks looking wild and free. 

Andromache just poured herself some more wine. “So,” she finally said, leaning forwards to catch his eye. Niko purposely tried to look innocent, widening his eyes every so slightly. Ioseph snorted in amusement, and Niko barely resisted the urge to kick him. 

“So?” he asked, tone light. He tilted his head to the side. He’d learned early on, as a child in the monastery, that if he gave the Priests a certain look, he could get almost anything. The look hadn’t worked on his bastard of a father, who’d been prone to drunken rages and violence, but the Priests had found him to be precocious, and appreciated his dedication. Then, as a Priest himself, he’d been able to get even the most stubborn of his patrons to confess to their sins. 

Andromache was breaking. He could tell. Even Andromache the Scythian gave into him when he really tried. 

Ioseph chucked under his breath, and pushed back from the table. “I’ll go find her some milk then,” he said, knowing the battle was already won. 

“We cannot have a cat Niko,” Andromache said lightly. 

He shrugged. “Why not? You said yourself we are to settle down here for several years, and she is old. She likely won’t last until we leave.” 

She sighed, severe expression cracking somewhat. “It will hurt you, when it dies.” 

“She,” Niko corrected automatically. He smiled slightly. “I have had and lost pets before,” he told the ancient woman. “It hurts, yes, but it is worth it for the love that they give you. And,” he added, reaching down to pet the now purring animal as she approached him again. “We won’t have a problem with mice with her around.” 

Andromache leaned back in her chair, regarding him with such fondness that he couldn’t help but feel the urge to tear up. He’d been the unwanted third son, given to the Church when he was eleven, and while he’d been quick to learn and a good Priest, his time with the Church had left him riddled with guilt and anxiety. He had learned from his love that he deserved happiness, and Andromache and Quynh had helped drive that lesson home. He still struggled, but he was getting better. 

“She’d a sweetheart,” he finally said, allowing himself to give in and grin. “Just look at her!” As if on cue, the cat jumped into his lap, purring loudly and rubbing her head on his chest. 

Andromache finally grinned as well. “I spoil you rotten,” she told him, though there was no heat in her voice. “You know that, don’t you? None of us are able to say no when you give us those eyes Niko.” 

He ducked his head down, running a hand over his cat’s back. She arched into the touch, before flopping down, looking obscenely content. 

“What are you going to name her?” 

“We should let Ioseph name her,” he mused. “I am no good with words.” 

Andromache did laugh then, standing and coming over to him. She placed a hand on his cheek, tilting his head up to look at her. Her eyes were fond, crinkling happily at the edges as she smiled down at him. He could feel himself blushing, as he always did when anyone showed him their love and affection for him. She tutted good naturedly, before leaning down and kissing him on the forehead, as though giving him her blessing. 

“You do not need words,” she protested. “That lover of yours talks enough for all of us. Call her Tivali,” she ordered. 

Niko looked up at her again, leaning further into her hand. 

“It was Cleopatra’s cat's name. The thing was a menace.” 

Niko did laugh then, because of course Andromache had known Cleopatra - likely Biblically. “Hopefully this Tivali will be kinder,” he said. She certainly looked it, with her eyes closed in bliss as he stroked her gently. 

Andromache hummed, before reaching down to touch the newly Christened Tivali on the head. The cat reared up, hissing and scratching, making Andromache snatch her hand away, watching in annoyance as the scratched quickly healed. She glared down at him, and he made sure to give her his best innocent expression again. 

“Just like Tivali…” she muttered. She kissed his forehead again, before going to join Ioseph outside. “Spoiled rotten Niko!” 

He grinned, stroking his cat once more. She looked perfectly innocent again. “You love me though,” he teased. 

She stopped in the doorway, looking back at him in amusement. “Yes,” she said easily, making him feel like the air had been sucked out of his chest with her easy admittance. “But you can keep your cat to yourself.” 

He looked down, fighting back a swell of tears. 

Tivali lived happily for the six years they spent on Naxos, hunting mice for them and curling up with Niko and Ioseph at night. She only tolerated Iospeh, much to his annoyance, loved Quynh, and unabashedly treated Niko like a small kitten who could not fend for himself. She also hated Andromache. 

Andromache hated her in return, but her expression always softened when she saw him playing with the cat, and she’d been the one to make a little casket for her when she finally passed. 

Centuries years later Nile stopped to pet a fluffy cat in the streets of Oslo, grinning as the animal approached them. 

“No,” Andy said, glaring at him. He helped up his hands in surrender. “I mean it Nicolò. Not this time.” 

Joe, being Joe, laughed so hard he had to sit down, scaring the poor animal away. Nile shoved him in the shoulder, before looking at Andy curiously. 

“That cat had a collar,” he said. “I would never adopt an animal who had a home.” 

Andy’s glare intensified, as though she expected the cat to reemerge and take a swipe at her. 

Nile started to smile as well. “Not a fan of cats Andy?” 

“I like cats just fine,” the woman protested. “But he has a habit of adopting cats that hate me.” 

Nile snorted, covering her mouth with a hand. They were all exhausted, which made the situation far funnier than it should be. “You could just, you know, not let him bring the cat home. You are the boss.” 

Andy gave her an incredulous look, setting Joe off again. Nicky forced his face into an innocent expression, which he knew would only fool Nile. Andy and Joe knew him far too well. 

“Nile,” Andy said, voice serious. “You need to learn something. And it’s best you learn it now, and not be surprised.” She glanced over at Nicky, and he gave her a faint smile. She turned back to the newest member of the team, who was looking faintly bemused at the direction the night had taken. They all needed sleep. 

“Uhhh, sure?” she said. 

“It is impossible to say no to Nicky if he really wants something,” she said firmly. “I’ve managed once, and that was only because it was for his own safety. And that was nearly impossible.” 

Joe, recovered from his fit of laughter, nodded beatifically. “I’ve never managed. Nor had Quynh. Or Booker. You won’t either.” 

She looked between Joe and Andy as though they were insane, before giving Nicky a once over. He kept his expression blank. “Seriously?” Nile said. “I’ve said no to him before.” 

Andy immediately shook her head, throwing an arm over Nile’s shoulder and walking again, leading them to their current safehouse. He and Joe followed at a more sedate pace, enjoying the crisp autumn air. The mission had been a simple one, if tiring, and they were looking forward to falling into bed with each other. 

Andy’s voice drifted back. “You’ve never said no when he’s trying to get his way,” she was saying. “Those eyes of his should be a weapon. He’s managed to convince me to take in six cats now, and they’ve all despised me.” 

Nile snorted. “That sounds like a you problem,” she said dryly. “Cats love me.” 

Joe burst out laughing again. “She really cannot say no to you my love,” he chuckled. 

Nicky leaned into his side. Giving her “the eyes” as Joe had deemed them, had been the only way he’d managed to get her to care for herself now that she was mortal. He was not above begging if it kept her safe and healthy for as long as possible. He would happily take her teasing about him being spoiled if it meant he could patch up her wounds and drink less. “I know,” he said. For he did. It had taken him years to realise, and even longer to come to terms with the fact that she loved him for who he was, but now he could not imagine it any other way. 

He kissed Joe on the cheek, feeling nostalgic, before glancing back towards the two women. They’d turned around to wait for them, and Nile was still flushed with laughter. Andy gave him a fond look, cupping a hand round the back of his neck when they caught up. 

“Spoiled,” she teased, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

He leaned into his touch. “I know.” He kissed her cheek. “Just for you Andromache.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, this is all fluff. And probably OOC, but whatever. I had fun writing it, and it's not like we really know how they all relate to one another normally. 
> 
> Please et me know what you thought, I love hearing from you!!!


	3. Protective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy really, _really_ , hates Michelangelo.

**_Florence, 1501_ **

“You can’t kill him!” 

“I think you’ll find that I can!” she hissed, a thin knife already in her hand. “Very easily.” 

Quynh held her back, hand tight on her beloved’s wrist. Andromache, known by Adriana here in Florence, scowled. “He deserves it,” she hissed, face twisted in fury. 

Quynh gave up subtly and wrapped a strong arm around her waist, digging her long nails into the skin of her wrist with her other hand. 

“He won’t thank you for causing a scene,” she pointed out logically. “You know this. And Giuseppe is with him.” She wrinkled her nose, as she always did, and the name Yusuf was using. “Nico can take care of himself.” 

Adriana scowled. He could take care of himself, yes, but he often wouldn’t. He knew how much Guiseppe was enjoying Florence and its wonderful artists, and would not do anything to jeopardize that. Especially not stabbing one of the most talented sculptors here. He'd mentioned to Nico that he had a new commission, and Giuseppe had looked interested, especially once he became aware of the sheer size of the project. Something about David and Goliath? Adriana hadn’t been paying attention. She appreciated art when she saw it, but had no need for it. Giuseppe was the one who came alive when he had time to draw and paint, and while Nico was no artist, he was certainly an artist’s muse. 

But really. Michelangelo was little more than a pig. He was looking at Nico as though he owned him, as though getting him into his bed was a forgone conclusion. Yusuf clearly wasn’t pleased, but was not one to cause a scene when Nicolò had asked him not to. And Nico could more than hold his own against Michelangelo. 

“No, we cannot this evening I’m afraid,” Nico was saying, hand over his chest. “Some other time?” 

The artist chucked, looking ast Nico with stars in his eyes, before ruining it by raking his eyes up and down his body in a covetous manner. Adriana clenched her first so tightly she cut the skin of her palms. They’d all had people want more than friendship from them, each and every one of them. But here in Florence, during this period of flourishing art, seemed to bring out the worst in people. She and Quynh had had multiple people proposition them, or simply ask to draw them, but Nico, with his classic Roman looks, seemed to inspire them to new heights. They would have loved him during the Imperial Era of Rome as well, Adriana mused. Not to mention Greece… 

She shook herself from her thoughts when Michelangelo leaned forwards and kissed Nico on the cheek. She (somehow) held herself back, thinking of all the ways she could murder the mortal man. Giuseppe tensed as well, while Nico’s expression hardened somewhat. Quynh, of course, just laughed under her breath. She would gladly kill for Nico if she thought he was genuinely in danger of course, but she knew he was not threatened by a stinking mortal. He could more than take care of himself. 

“You are the light of the century my dear Nico, the paragon of all the world!” 

Adriana scoffed, unimpressed. Giuseppe could come up with better in his sleep. 

“You are too kind,” Nico demurred, though there was a tightness in his jaw that showed his irritation. “But we really must be going.” 

Michelangelo chuckled, still staring at Nico as though trying to memorise his appearance. “I shall not keep you,” he finally said, dropping Nico’s hand. Nico subtly wiped it on his breeches. 

Adriana hooked her arms through Quynh’s as they left the artists studio, suddenly in much better spirits. 

“That man,” Quynh suddenly said, looking over at their youngest brother, “is more than halfway in love with you Nicolò,” she teased. 

He made a face, clearly disagreeing. “He’s in love with himself more than anything,” he protested. 

Guiseppe chuckled tiredly. “And you, my darling,” he said. “He looks at you like you are some old Roman God.” 

“They don’t like Romans here,” Nico said waspishly, purposefully ignoring the point. 

Adriana snorted, feeling a surge of affection for Nico in that moment. “Come,” she said. “Quynh and I are leaving soon, let’s not ruin our time together by thinking of that man. Regardless,” she added, seeing Guiseppe’s look, “of how good a sculpture he is.” 

**_###_ **

**_Florence 1506_ **

Adriana walked back through the streets of Florence, missing Quynh but not truly surprised her love had chosen to go elsewhere. She was like the wind, her Quynh, and went where she wished. Adriana would have it no other way. 

She passed by the Palazzo Vecchio, noting a small crowd, but ignored it. There were always crowds in this city. She was dressed like a relatively poor man, blending into the Florentine streets with ease. She walked quickly to the home Guiseppe and Nico had made for themselves while in the city, feeling truly excited to see them. It had been just over three centuries since she and Quynh had found the two men, and she had only grown to love them more. She had missed them dearly, even though they had only been apart for five years this time. She let herself into their home with ease, yelling out a greeting. 

Giuseppe greeted her first, leaning over the railing to grin down at her. She couldn’t help but grin back - his good humour was always infections. She could be in the worst mood possible, and he could get her out of it just by laughing. “Andromache! We have missed you. I would have prepared a feast had I known you were coming!” 

She laughed. “I have tasted your cooking,” she retorted. “I don’t want a feast!” 

He mimed being wounded by her (untrue) words, before disappearing. Adriana looked around the well appointed home with curiosity, spotting new artwork on the walls, rolls of fabric, and piles of books. 

“Where is Nico?” she asked when he appeared in a doorway, pulling her into one of his massive hugs. He spun her around, arms tightening happily. 

“Five years, and the first thing you do is ask about Nico? I’m hurt Adriana, truly.” 

She drew back, cupping the back of his neck. He looked good, happy and healthy. He was wearing breeches and a loose shirt, his hair and beard a mess and hands covered with paint and charcoal. He’d been making money as an artisan before she and Quynh had left, and he’d clearly continued to do well. 

“He’s likely arguing with the Bishop again,” Giuseppe said, looking amused. “I have no clue what about, but he comes home animated and eager, so I do not complain.” 

Adriana snorted. Only their Nico would get excited talking about Catholic Theology. Bishop Rinaldo Orsini was a grumpy old man, who cared more for politics than religion, and had despised the old Pope Alexander VI with a passion that even she had been impressed by. Adriana wondered if he hated the new Pope just as much. She made a point of knowing nothing about the Catholic Church, still angry about the scars it had left Nico, but if he wanted to argue with Bishops she would not stop him. 

“Shall we take a walk?” Giuseppe said, interrupting her thoughts. “Michelangelo finished that statue and used Nico as his inspiration.” 

“He posed for that pig of a man?” 

Giuseppe snorted, leading her further into the house so he could dress appropriately. She would likely look like his servant, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The clothing of the poor was considerably more comfortable than that of the wealthy. Even Giuseppe and Nico had difficulty pulling it off, and they were those annoying people who tended to look good in anything. 

“No,” Giuseppe said, shoving a hideous hat on his riotous curls. “But we were in his company often enough, and he was drawn to Nico.” He made a face, allowing her to proceed him out the door. “I understand his attraction, of course, but it did start to get a little tedious. However, the statue is, shall we say, a good likeness in many ways. Though there is one way, in particular, that it is terrible.” 

She rolled her eyes. She liked art well enough, but had no talent for it, and no real desire to immerse herself among artists. Some were perfectly good people, but, as a whole, she found them to be rather ridiculous. 

They wandered back to the Palazzo Vecchio, which had thankfully quieted down somewhat as evening fell, before Giuseppe led her to a massive statue of a man. He was gazing into the distance, face expressive and serious, body slender yet strong. And, she noted, he looked faintly like Nico. It wasn’t overtly obvious, but there was something about the statue's carved nose, the fall of his hair, and the way he was standing that immediately brought her youngest brother to mind. 

“So you mean to tell me,” she said slowly, allowing her incredulousness to melt into anger, “that Michelangelo spent years of his life imagining Nico naked?” She suddenly hated him even more, something she would not have thought possible. And the artist was young yet. He could have years more life ahead of him, decades more time to objectify Nico. She regretted allowing Quynh to stop her from killing him. 

Giuseppe just gave her a deeply amused look. “He’s hardly the first Andromache,” he scoffed, using her real name. “And he won’t be the last. Do you not remember how that painter in Vienna loved you? Or that woman in Naxos who was head over heels for Quynh?” 

She glared at him. She didn’t care when people looked at her, or even at Quynh. She minded a little when they looked at Giuseppe, and had found it amusing when they’d looked at Lykon. She _hated_ when they looked at Nico though. He just seemed so innocent to her still, though she knew he was not, that he had not been since he’d been a small child with a horrible father. He’d had to grow up far too quickly.

He had admitted to her that he’d thought himself broken for a long time. Giuseppe had helped him, just as he had helped Giuseppe, but in different ways. He’d told her, after they’d had several drinks over a century ago now, that he’d never felt attraction until several years into knowing Giuseppe. Not to men and not to women. He’d felt wrong when others, even other Priests, would talk about their conquests and who they thought prettiest. It left him feeling dirty, and somehow lacking as a person. He was quiet, almost too quiet at times, but Adriana knew better then to assume that meant he didn’t feel. He felt just as strongly as Giuseppe, but simply internalised everything, positive or negative. That someone like Michelangelo could think filthy thoughts about him, imagine him naked, sculpt his likeness… made her want to stab someone. 

Giuseppe rolled his eyes. “I should have known you’d react like this,” he sighed. “Nico was embarrassed, of course, but not offended. I am offended only on how incorrect he sculpted a certain part of my love’s likeness,” he said, gesturing to the statue’s groin. “But Michelangelo did manage to capture Nico’s perfect behind, so I suppose I can forgive him.” 

“How are you not angry?” Adriana demanded, circling the statue once. It did, she had to admit, look uncannily like Nico from the back. She hated that implication, hated how she could picture in her mind that damned artist watching Nico walk away, imagining him unclothed. 

Giuseppe laughed slightly, shaking his head at her. “My dear Adriana,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I am not angry because I understand. I fell in love with Nico mere months after we left Jerusalem, and spent most of the time before then admiring his form, even though he was far too skinny and dirty back then. I cannot blame others for likewise falling in love. I know I am the only one he will ever desire.” 

Adriana frowned, not moved a whit by Giuseppe’s speech. She knew their story, how they’d fallen in love and slowly helped each other heal, but that had no bearing on _this_. 

“Everyone in Florence can see his ass,” she hissed. “I for one am not alright with this!” She wanted to knock the statue down, so no one else could see it, then travel to Rome to kill Michelangelo for objectifying her brother. 

Giuseppe just rolled his eyes again, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Come you protective Mother Bear,” he drawled. “Your cub will likely be finished debating with the bishop by now. I hope. They’d debated into the night more than once. I don’t know how they don’t get bored.” 

That, Adriana could agree with. There was only so much talk about religion she could stomach, but Nico could talk about it for hours on end, completely focused. “I’m still not happy about this,” she warned. 

Giuseppe just shrugged, unfazed by her anger as only a little brother could be. Most people ran from her rage, but not him, and never Nico. 

“Let’s go start dinner,” he said instead of continuing to talk of Michelangelo and the statue. “There is enough for a stew, then we can convince Nico to cook for us tomorrow.” 

Adriana scowled, but allowed herself to be pulled away, giving the statue one last glare for good measure. 

**_###_ **

“Where would you like to go next?” Joe asked, looking at Nile indulgently. 

They’d been recovering in Malta for the better part of a month now, and while Andy knew Joe and Nicky could spend eternity here, they also wanted to show the newest immortal what the world had to offer. They wanted her to know that while there were difficulties and trials to their life, there were also blessings. 

She stretched out on the sofa, putting her feet in Nicky’s lap. He didn’t even stop reading, just moved his book so she could relax. “We could go to Greece,” she offered. “Explore Athens for a bit then go island hopping.” 

Nile considered the offer, before shaking her head. “Florence,” she responded decisively. “I’ve always wanted to go to The Galleria dell'Accademia and the Uffizi.” 

Nicky coughed, throwing her a small yet incredibly telling glance. Joe, on the other hand, brayed with laughter. “Think you’re up for Florence Boss?” he joked, throwing a piece of popcorn at her. 

Nile tilted her head to the side, looking completely confused. “What’s wrong with Florence?” she demanded.

“Nothing, Nile,” Nicky responded immediately. “Joe and I have lived there several times actually, and always enjoyed our time there.” 

Joe nodded, looking as innocent as a lamb. “We still have a house there actually,” he added. “Though we typically rent it out to tourists for some more income. Speaking of,” he added in an aside to Nicky. “We should have it ‘change hands’ soon. We keep pretending it belongs to Nicky’s family,” he explained to Nile. 

Nicky nodded, finally putting down his book. “I have played my own son or grandson almost too many times to count by now.” 

Andy dug her heels into his thigh, drawing his attention. “I hate Florence,” she complained. Nicky, bless him, just leaned over and kissed her cheek. She scowled at him. 

Nile just rolled her eyes. “You’ve all got to start explaining things,” she bitched. “Cause this is just annoying. Why do you hate Florence?” 

Andy scowled, picturing stabbing that jackass of an artist for what must be the millionth time. They’d met him again, in Rome, when he’d been in his mid thirties, and he’d somehow fallen even deeper in love with Nicky. He’d waxed on about his unfading beauty, his perfect Roman nose, his physique… to the point where even Joe was getting angry. She’d made them leave, dragging them out of Italy and away from lecherous men. 

“Andy had a problem with Michelangelo,” Nicky said finally, a small yet incredibly amused smile on his face. 

“Small?” Joe scoffed, “I had to stop her from killing him at least a dozen times.” 

Nile was laughing now, giving Andy a deeply amused look. “Why?” she finally demanded. “What did he do to you? Wasn’t he just some boring old artist?”

“He was,” Nicky agreed, giving Nile an earnest expression. Joe, by now, was laughing so hard he was barely making any noise. Andy fought the urge to throw something at him. 

“He was not,” she hissed, sitting up abruptly. “He was a lecherous pig,” she informed Nile, “and could not keep his eyes to himself.” 

Joe, who’d managed to pull himself together somewhat, grinned at Nile after exchanging a deeply amused look with Nicky. “He was head over heels in love with Nicky,” he informed the newest immortal. “Couldn’t take his eyes off of him, always telling him how beautiful he was, confessed his love at least five times…” 

Nile gave Andy a deeply amused look. “You hate him ‘case he hit on Nicky?” 

Andy allowed her frown to deepen. “Hit on him, stared at him, made art based on him…” 

Nile just grinned. “Look,” she said, “if he was that bad I’m sure Nicky would have taken care of it, or Joe would have.” 

Nicky nodded. “Exactly Nile,” he said. “He took advantage of kissing to greet one another, and certainly looked, but that was all.” 

Joe had dissolved back into laughter, and was absolutely no help. He was typing something into his phone, and Andy dreaded to know what it was. He was an absolutely fiend that man. 

“He sculpted you naked,” she hissed, “for all of Florence to see. People are still looking to this day!” 

“Wait,” Nile said, holding up a hand. “Are you talking about David? The David? As in one of the most amazing sculptures ever?” She turned to Nicky in excitement. “You posed for David?” 

Nicky shrugged. “Michelangelo sketched me multiple times,” he said, “And asked me to pose nude. I always turned him down, but certainly didn’t mind him sketching. It was the Renaissance after all, though we did not know it at the time, and art was flourishing. He showed me, after it was finished, how he’d used me as inspiration. I did not mind.” 

Joe nodded in agreement. “The face is similar,” he told Nile. “But from behind it is uncanny.” He gave Nile his phone, showing her an image. 

The new immortal mimed gagging, before studying the image even closer, then looking at Nicky with narrowed eyes. “I did not want to think of your ass today,” she sighed. “But I get it.” She gave the phone back to Joe. “I need more wine,” she said. “Anyone else?” 

Nicky shook his head, while Andy just held out her empty glass. 

Nicky suddenly leaned into her side, pushing himself under her arm. “I never said thank you,” he whispered in Greek. 

She pulled him closer automatically. She was not, as a rule, a cuddler, but Nicky had always brought it out in her. “For what?” she asked, still angry at the memory of that damned artist. 

He shrugged, looking suddenly vulnerable. “For your protection, I suppose,” he replied slowly. 

She leaned her cheek against the top of his head. “Hardly protection, that damned statue still exists.” 

He huffed a small laugh. “I honestly don’t mind the statue,” he said. “But... “ he swallowed. “Your reaction then, it made me realise how much you love me.” 

Andy fought back a smile, knowing it would look ridiculously sappy. She kissed the top of his head. “I still think we should have killed him,” she muttered. 

Joe snorted, finally picking himself up off the floor. “You’re a menace,” he told her, before leaving to help Nile. 

She didn’t bother replying, but did smile slightly when Nicky laced their fingers together. “If we take Nile to Florence,” he said, “think you can manage not to destroy the statue?” 

She pulled a lock of his hair. “I make no promises.” 

Fucking Michelangelo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... have you SEEN Michelangelo David from the back??? The ass on that man... [I MEAN!!](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f5/David_de_Miguel_Angel_-_Galeria_de_la_Academia_de_Florencia_-_04.jpg)
> 
> The most famous Witch Trials in England were in 1612, so (as we don’t have a firm date for when Quynh was thrown into the sea from the movies unless I missed something, which is totally possible, and I’m too lazy to check), so while it may not be canon for Quynh to have been around during the Italian Renaissance, I wanted her here. 
> 
> “light of our century, paragon of all the world” - Michelangelo said this to Tommaso dei Cavalieri, who was supposedly the ideal form of masculine beauty. And I mean… Nicky kinda fits that Renaissance ideal as well. And honestly, how many men reuse lines? Almost all of them. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I know the whole 'Nicky is an inspo for Michelangelo' is total fandom canon, but I LOVE it haha.


	4. Favouritism

“Andrea…” Nicholas said, staring at her in surprise. 

She simply took the knife from him, pushing him behind her own tall frame. “He is being foolish,” she responded, looking angry. 

Nicholas looked towards Joseph, who was likewise looking displeased, but less overtly furious. He shrugged. “I do not like seeing you hurt,” he said easily. “Especially by one of us.”

Andrea sneered, and nudged the new immortal with her foot. They didn’t even know his name yet. Nicholas had found him first, spoken to him softly. The other man had stabbed him through the shoulder in a wild thrust, eyes speaking of panic and fear. Andrea had appeared like an avenging angel, and killed him in return. 

Nicholas sighed. “He’s hardly going to trust us if you kill him,” he pointed out wryly, his own injury already healed. 

Andrea just shrugged. “I don’t care. He’s already made a terrible impression on me.” 

Joseph laughed now. “Were we any better? I think all you saw of us in the dreams was us making love or travelling. And occasionally fighting.” 

Andrea swatted him upside the head. She and Quynh had met Nicky first, when they’d caught up to the newer immortals in Athens near to the year 1200. Nicky, recognizing them from his dreams, had given Andrea a pastry. She’d loved him ever since. Joseph had been a little more weary of the women, especially as Nicholas had trusted them immediately, but had warmed up soon enough. He felt strongly, but was almost incapable of holding a grudge unless Nicholas was hurt. Nicholas could and would remain angry for much longer, but it took an awful lot for him to get angry in the first place

“We already  _ liked _ you two,” Andrea said simply. “We knew that from the dreams.” She tilted her head to the side as the Frenchman came back to life. “You were so much better.” 

Nicholas knelt down in the bloody snow, a gentle hand going to the newest immortal’s face. “And I gave you sugar,” he said, looking up at her with his ridiculously bright eyes. “That alone endeared me to you.” 

Andrea snorted, but likewise knelt down, leaving Joseph to keep watch. Nicholas was talking softly to the other man, voice gentle and calm. He was more relaxed now, and seemed less likely to become violent, but Andrea was nothing if not cautious. Yes, Nicholas was strong and could protect himself, but she did not want him to need to. Not when she could help it. 

“What is your name?” he asked, still speaking in French. They would only hope that’s what the man spoke - Andrea could speak Russian but despised the language, and neither Nicholas or Joseph had bothered to learn. 

The man glared at him again, scrambling away to put his back to a tree. Nicholas didn’t follow, but likewise did not stand back up. “I am Nicholas,” he finally said. “This is Andrea, and the man keeping watch is Joseph. We are like you.” 

The man remained silent for a long while, before finally breaking his silence. “You also cannot seem to die?” he asked in French. 

Nicholas allowed himself a relieved smile. “We die, and wake up once more,” he said simply, not wanting to get into Lykon’s death. Or Quynh, hanging over their heads. He could not decide whether he wanted her to be dead or alive. 

The man swallowed. “Sébastien Le Livre,” he rasped after a long moment. 

Nicholas nodded, before finally standing, extending a hand to Sébastien. He did not know if the other man would take it, but the least he could do was offer. Joseph would as well, if he were not on watch, and he knew Andrea would not. She was still clearly angry at the newest immortal, and likely would be for some time. The only person Nicholas had met who could hold a grudge longer than her was Quynh. 

“I…” the man wavered then, eyes closing briefly as though fighting off dizziness. Nicholas did not help him, sensing any aid would be unwanted. “What do you want?” 

Joseph stepped forwards then, watching Sébastien with cautious yet kind eyes. “We work together,” he explained. “To try and make the world a better place. We would like you to join us.” 

Sébastien’s face spasmed for a moment. He was so goddamn young! “I cannot,” he said. “I must return to my family.” 

Andrea swore under her breath. “You should not,” she warned, eyes firm. “It is better for them to think you dead.” 

Sébastien drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height, looking angry. “I will not abandon them,” he declared in a low voice. “What kind of man would I be then?” 

Andrea remained silent for a long moment, watching the new immortal with jaded eyes, before walking off. Nicholas watched her go, knowing she was correct, but also knowing that Sébastien would never agree. They would have to let him leave, and he would find his way back to them eventually. They were not meant to be alone. 

“Come,” Joseph finally said. “We have food and shelter, and you need both.” 

Sébastien allowed Joseph to lead them away, as Nicholas brought up the rear, ensuring they were not seen. The last thing any of them wanted was to have to deal with Napoleon’s army. 

  
  


**_###_ **

  
  


**_Years later_ **

Andrea watched carefully as Nicholas left, wearing the dark clothing of a Priest. He’d played the part several times over the years, but it was always difficult for him to do, for a variety of reasons. But Jean-Pierre, Sébastien’s only remaining child, had requested a Priest, and had no interest in speaking with his father. Nicholas had volunteered. 

Andrea had protested when Nicholas had offered, loudly, and frequently. They did not owe this new immortal anything. They had come to him several times over the years, to check in and to offer their support. He had rejected them time and time again, sure that he was in the right. And, perhaps, he was. She was from a different time, as were Nicholas and Joseph. She had had a family when she’d died the first time, but had left them behind, knowing it was the right thing to do for her surviving sisters. Nicholas had had a surviving brother, but he was a cruel man, taking after his father, and Nicholas had no interest in returning to him. Only Joseph had had a family he’d considered returning to, a mother and father who loved him dearly, as well as two sisters and a hoard of nieces and nephews, but had chosen not to go back to them. It was for the best, for everyone involved. 

As Sébastien was now learning. 

The new immortal was angry, furious at the world and at himself, and frequently tried to take it out on them. She understood, in a way, but would not allow them to hurt her boys. Joseph seemed capable of handling the Frenchman’s moods, even the worst of them, but Nicholas seemed to be taking his melancholy to heart. Andrea would not allow that. She understood grief more than anyone, and would not allow this man to harm her family. Not when they were only trying to help him. 

She liked Sébastien, in general, she really did, but she was getting more than a little fed up with him. 

Nicholas nodded to Joseph, brushing their hands together for a brief moment, before leaving for the hospital, going to offer Jean-Pierre some comfort as he died. He didn’t have long now. 

Sébastien watched him leave sadly, tears in his eyes, before reaching for the wine. Andrea was tempted to do the same, but wanted to speak with him first. She would not allow him to poison their family. She would allow him his grief, his pain, and his anger, but not like this. 

Joseph caught her eye, an amused look on his face. He could read her all too well. He settled himself on a chair, ever present sketchbook on his lap. Andrea caught a glimpse of trees, as well as what she thought was a cat. And Nicholas. Always Nicholas. 

She sat roughly at the table across from the Frenchman, a glare fixed on her face, and took the wine from him. He glared right back at her, the brave man, making to snatch the wine back. She held it away easily. 

“Nico does not have to help your son, or you,” she said bluntly, using her favoured pet name instead of the more formal Nicolas. “He does it because he is kind, and does not want him, or you, to suffer unduly.” Sébastien narrowed his eyes at her, clearly wanting to speak. She ruthlessly cut him off, having dealt with his emotional snits for far too long. “Do not punish him for helping your Jean-Pierre,” she said bluntly. “It is not his fault, or ours, or even yours, that Jean-Pierre is unhappy with you. And, do not forget, that it was you who asked us to help him.” 

Sébastien looked livid for a long moment, before he visibly deflated, grief all too visible in his eyes. He remained silent for a long moment. “I am watching my child die,” he finally said, voice soft but firm. “You cannot ask me to not grieve for that.” 

Andy remained firm. She felt for Sébastien, she truly did, and she herself had said horrible things after Quynh’s loss. “I know,” she replied simply, allowing some of her own sorrow to shine through. “I know Sébastien. But you cannot take your pain out on Nico, not when he is doing everything he can to ease your hurt, and to help Jean-Pierre. Take it out on me if your must, or even Joseph,” she added, knowing the other man would truly not mind. She would prefer him just to take it out on her, but likewise knew that may be difficult. Sébastien still occasionally found her to be too much, too unlike the women he had always known, and found it difficult to decide how to behave around her at times. 

Sébastien tilted his head to the side, frowning. “I am sorry,” he finally said in a low voice. He sounded honest, but Andrea would not hold her breath. “I will apologise,” he added, this time sounding stronger. “And thank Nicholas.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you all.” 

Joseph stood from his chair, moving to the kitchen to start supper. “I did not return to my family after my first death,” he told Sébastien conversationally. “Nor did Nicholas, so we do not know what you are facing. But we want to help you Sébastien. You do not have to face this alone.” 

Andrea watched Sébastien closely, hoping she’d got through to him, before mentally dismissing him from her mind. She would be less kind if he did not understand her. She stood, giving Joseph a small smile. He winked at her knowingly, knowing her far too well. She gave him a smile despite herself, slipping from the small home they were sharing, intent on finding Nicholas and accompanying him home from the hospital where Jean-Pierre was spending the last weeks of his life. 

**_###_ **

  
  


Joseph let stew cook, leaving the lid off the pot for the time being, suffusing the main floor of their home with the delicious scent. This dish was one of Nicholas’ favourite’s, and Joseph knew he’d want the comfort. He had trained as a doctor more than once over the years, and more than able to help Jean-Pierre beyond offering him a hand to hold and his last confession, but Joseph knew it hurt his beloved to see someone in so much pain. 

Nicholas had told him, in the privacy of their bedroom, that Jean-Pierre was happy, for the most part. Or at least at peace. It was his father that set him off, not Nicholas or the nurses. The man had never married, but had friends who would come and see him. He was not lonely, nor in pain. Nicholas and the nurses made sure of that. 

Sébastien cleared his throat, drawing Joseph’s attention. 

“I am sorry,” he said, voice low. “I -” he cut himself off with a swallow, a look of sorrow on his face. 

Joseph sat down in the spot Andrea had vacated, pouring himself and Sébastien some water. He did not completely abstain from alcohol, but still avoided it for the most part. Nicholas would drink more often, though rarely to excess, and only if he felt safe. Sébastien and Andrea on the other hand, could drink like sailors. 

“I accept your apology,” he said simply. “And I know Nicholas will as well. We truly just want to help you Sébastien.” 

Sébastien smiled faintly. “You are, and I thank you all for that. My wife, my Colette, did not seem to mind that I was not aging. We never spoke of it, she died too soon for that, but…” he trailed off again, shaking his head. “Henri died too young, before I even left to fight. Marcelle likewise did not notice before his death. But Jean-Pierre…” Sébastien shook his head. “He was always a headstrong boy, spoiled perhaps. I let him get away with everything.” 

Joseph laughed lightly. He could see that. Sébastien did tend to melt at the sight of children. Jean-Pierre, being the youngest, likely had his father wrapped around his finger. “I am sorry, Sébastien,” he said honestly. “I truly am.” 

Sébastien just nodded, before shaking his head slightly, as though shaking the negative thoughts from his mind. “Andrea,” he said slowly. “The way she acts towards Nicholas.” He paused, as though mulling over how to continue. “At times it seems as though he is her son.” 

Joseph laughed loudly, amused at the thought. Sébastien was not wrong, not really. Andrea could be awfully protective of Nicholas, regardless of the fact that he could more than take care of himself. She was protective of him as well of course, as she had been protective over Quynh, but with Nicholas it was different. “He is not her son,” Joseph said, still amused. “But I can understand why you assumed so.” They had not yet spoke of how they met, or when. They had not spent enough time together to do so, and Sébastien had been more worried about his son than their backstories. In his mind it would be possible for Nicholas to be Andrea’s son - for all Sébastien knew she could have decided to have a child, and been lucky enough for that child to inherit her immortality later in life. He surely wished for the same for his children. “Though,” Joseph added, “he does not call her mother.” 

Sébastien managed a smile. “I suppose not. I had thought perhaps he called her by her name because while she looks older than him, she doesn't look old enough to be his mother.” 

Joseph laughed. “When she is particularly exhausted she looks older,” he confided, forcing himself not to think of how damn old she had looked when they’d finally given up looking for Quynh, lines of grief carved into her immortal face. “And Nicholas looks younger with long hair. You are not the first to think they are mother and son.” It didn’t happen often, but it had occurred several times in the past, especially when it was more common for women to give birth young. “But no,” he continued. “Andrea and Quynh found us in Athens in the early 1200’s. We were still young then, having only died the first time about one hundred years previously. Andrea all but adopted Nicholas on sight.” 

Sébastien’s eyes widened slightly as he processed that, before he laughed. “And you do not mind?” 

“Mind?” Joseph asked, genuinely confused. “Mind what?” 

“That Andrea so clearly favours Nicholas over you?” 

Joseph did laugh then, throwing his head back in mirth. “She does not love me less,” he explained, wiping a tear from his eye. “Just differently. As she will grow to love you Sébastien. She can seem cold, but she is not. Just old.” 

Sébastien raised an eyebrow, but did not comment, not believing Joseph yet. 

“I am glad for it,” he finally explained. “Nicholas’ mother died when he was young, and his father was terribly cruel, as were his brothers” he explained, angry as always when he thought about his love’s life before their first death. “Then he spent years in a monastery and, as I’m sure you know, a medieval monastery is hardly a kind place.” 

Sébastien made a face, and Joseph knew he agreed. Nicholas still had scars from before his first death after all. 

“But,” Joseph added. “Don’t take his kindness as weakness,” he warned. “Because he is anything but weak. Andrea favours him, and protects him, because she wants to, as do I, not because of any failing on his part. He is equally able to protect us in turn, when the need arises.” 

Sébastien nodded slowly. He had never seen Nicholas, or any of them fight, so he could be forgiven his assumptions, but hopefully this warning would help him see Nicholas’ strength. He likely thought that because Nicholas had been a Priest he could not fight, and while Nicholas would never enjoy violence (nor would Joseph, that was more Andrea and Quynh’s area) he was more than capable. “I will not,” he finally answered. 

Joseph smiled at the much younger man, before moving to stir the stew again. He did not want to make Sébastien uncomfortable with his scrutiny. He was already emotional enough without him adding more to it. “We need some bread,” he said simply, looking at their reserves. “We’re running low.”

Sébastien immediately stood, unfolding his tall form. “I will go,” he offered. Joseph suspected that he wanted to be helpful, but was also desperate for an excuse to go for a walk. 

“That would be appreciated,” he replied. “Thank you.” 

Sébastien just nodded, before leaving the house. Joseph watched him go, feeling a swell of pity in his chest, before dismissing the feeling, knowing Sébastien would not want it. He instead put the lid on the stew and settled down to finish his sketch while he waited for Andrea and Nicholas to return.

**_###_ **

Andrea watched as Nicholas walked out of the hospital, stopping to talk to an older man on his way. The man looked to be asking him to pray with him, which Nicholas gladly did. He may not believe the same way he once did, but he would never deny someone. She waited, watching his face carefully for any sign of grief. He’d helped in hospitals before. They all had. But this was the first time he’d helped someone with cancer, the first time he’d helped someone he knew. It was hurting him, she could see that. She would not tell him to stop, but she would offer him a shoulder to lean on. He and Joseph had been there for her in the worst moment of her long life. She would never leave either of them to suffer any pain alone. 

Nicholas pat the man on the shoulder, before making his way over to her, one of his barely there smiles on his face. She slipped an arm through his easily, wanting the closeness. 

“How is Jean-Pierre?” she asked, knowing it was expected of her. She did care, she really did, but she was still angry at Sébastien, and in a foul mood. 

Nicholas gave her a knowing look. He could always read her too well. “He has perhaps a week left, if that,” he replied. “I’ve tried to talk him into seeing Sébastien again, but so far he’s being stubborn.” 

“Like his father,” Andrea observed. 

Nicholas nodded, breathing slowly. He had been at many people’s bedsides as they died, but it never became easier for him. She hated that he’d agreed to do this, though she understood  _ why _ he had. It was just who Nicholas was. 

“I don’t want to push him,” Nicholas added. “Not now.”

She didn’t reply, knowing she’d likely say something disparaging about Sébastien if she did. Nicholas didn’t need or want to hear that. Instead she led him into a small side street, filled with small shops, stopping outside a bakery. “Shall we spoil our dinner?” she asked, giving him a smirk. He didn’t have as large of a sweet tooth as she did, but he adored pastries. 

He hesitated for a moment, knowing Joseph was cooking supper for them, before laughing slightly. “Always,” he answered. “Lead the way.” 

  
  
  
  


When they got back home Nicholas went to Sébastien first, talking to him in a low voice. Andrea knew she was reassuring him that while Jean-Pierre was not long for this world, he was not in pain. Sébastien said something in return, before clasping Nicholas’ arm gently, face earnest as he looked down at the older man. 

Joseph appeared at her shoulder, eyes warm. “He is sorry,” he said, nodding towards the new immortal. “But grieving, and not, I think, the best with emotions.” 

Andrea snorted softly, but did not reply. 

Joseph grinned. “He asked if Nicholas was your son,” he informed her. “Apparently you mother him.” 

Andrea rolled her eyes, but didn’t bother stopping the smile tugging at her lips. “Baby brother’s more accurate, I think,” she protested. She’d never had any interest in mothering after all. “But,” she added, looking sidelong at Joseph, “I’m certainly not offended he thought that.” 

Joseph led her further into the kitchen, giving Sébastien and Nicholas the illusion of privacy as they talked. “Slice the bread for me?” he asked, handing her a serrated knife. She took it absentmindedly, cutting the loaf efficiently. It distracted her from trying to eavesdrop on the two men in the other room. Nicholas would tell her everything if she asked, so it was hardly necessary. 

“After,” Joseph said, waving a hand as though indicating that ‘after’ meant after all this. “We should take a small break somewhere. Train the baby.” 

Andrea made a face. Sébastien had been 42 when he had died. Not, in the grand scheme of things, much older than Joseph or Nicholas had been upon their deaths, but he seemed far older. Calling him the baby just seemed odd given the circumstances. But she agreed with what Joseph was saying. If Sébastien was going to join them, as she suspected he would, they would need to ensure he was able to fight with them. 

“We’ll go to Sardinia,” she finally said. She’d almost suggested Malta, having been there with her boys multiple times over the years, but she didn’t want to bring Sébastien there. Not yet. She had a safehouse there, one that would be large enough to give them all their own space. She was more than used to sharing with Joseph and Nicholas (and all that entailed - privacy was a relatively new concept after all) but assumed Sébastien would want some space for himself. They all would. 

Joseph nodded. “Sardinia sounds good,” he replied, handing her a basket to put the bread in. 

Nicholas and Sébastien came in the kitchen next, sitting easily for dinner. The stew was simple, but hearty, with spices Joseph and Nicholas had carefully brought from their travels. Sébastien picked at it eagerly. The grief was still on him like a cloak, but he seemed more settled, at least for now. 

Nicholas brushed his hand with Joseph’s, bright eye’s warm despite the sorrow of the day. He was still in his priest’s clothes, long black robes with a splash of white at the throat. It looked terribly uncomfortable in her opinion, but Nicholas didn’t seem to mind. Joseph smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners, and said something in soft Arabic. 

Sébastien glanced at them for a moment, before looking away. Andrea was not actually sure if he realised what Nicholas and Joseph were to each other. He was not unobservant, but he was (for obviously reasons) focused on his son, and Nicholas and Joseph were being careful in their affection, not wanting to overwhelm him. She thought they were being ridiculous. If Sébastien dared say anything she would quite happily educate him, but it was not her place to interfere. And, while Sébastien could be difficult, she genuinely did not think he would be offended. He’d been in the army after all, and could not be ignorant of love between men, even if he had no interest. 

Joseph struck up a conversation, telling a story about an older woman he’d done some work for, happily drawing the attention on himself. Andrea took the time to watch Nicholas, noting with pleasure that he seemed more settled then he had when she’d first seen him after leaving the hospital. Sardina would do him good. 

And only time would tell with Sébastien. She did not know how to help him through this, beyond being there for him. Nicholas and Joseph would be far better than her. She and Quynh had never needed to comfort each other much, and Lykon had always been cheerful, and not prone to sorrow. Joseph and Nicholas however… Joseph felt deeply and overtly, and had no shame in expressing himself. He would spar with her, or yell if the need struck him, talking afterwards. Nicholas was the one she worried about, as did Joseph, and as had Quynh. He held everything inside, not allowing a crack to show until one of them forced him to feel. 

She wondered how Sébastien would be. 

She was startled from her thoughts when Nicholas laughed aloud at something Joseph had said, a rare and wonderful grin on his face, and she made herself focus on the moment. There would be time to worry later, right now she wanted to spend time with her family. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going with Matthias Schoenaerts's age for Booker in this. 
> 
> And no, Andy doesn't look old enough to be Nicky's mother, but given they're immortal, Booker's thought process makes sense in this little fic. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading! :)


	5. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically nicky sleeping while andy comforts him. That's it.

Nicky woke with a start, feeling a gun in the back of his throat and a hand tangled in his hair. Joe, mercifully, was still asleep at his back, arms tight around him. His husband could sleep through nearly anything, the lucky man. He’d wake if Nicky truly needed him, but otherwise would not move until morning. He had nightmares occasionally, but they were rare. Nicky thought he should be jealous, but he was too grateful that his love would not suffer with him. Joe had adapted to life as an immortal better than anyone else. Nicky hoped Nile would be the same. 

Thinking of the young woman only made Nicky feel more anxious, knowing that she’d been forced into a life of hardship, and he carefully left the warm bed, moving Joe’s arms gently off of him. Joe would sleep through Nicky tossing and turning, yes, but not as deeply as he would otherwise, and they didn’t both need to be tried come morning. 

He made his way down to the kitchen on silent feet, intent on making himself a cup of tea before trying to go back to bed. He passed by Nile’s room on the way, and peaked through the open door. The young woman was sleeping peacefully, much to his relief. She deserved it. It had been two weeks since they’d left Booker on the Thames, and sleep had been difficult to come by for all of them. But now they had made it to one Andy’s favourite safehouses in Norway, sequestered among the trees and overlooking a large fjord, and they all felt safe enough to rest. He walked past Andy’s room, not wanting to risk opening her door to check on her. She was healing, but the bullet wound in her abdomen still pained her, and she needed her rest. If he opened the door she would almost certainly wake up, attuned to her family and the sounds of her home. 

He turned on the electric kettle, stopping it just before boiling, and poured it into his mug, watching with unseeing eyes as the tea began to steep and the rich smell saturated the room. 

He snagged a blanket, before stepping outside onto the porch. It was cold, near freezing now, but beautiful. The temperature helped to ground him as well, made him feel more alert and less stuck inside his head. He sipped at the tea, wincing as it burned his tongue before the faint injury healed. He settled instead on cupping the chipped porcelain in between his hands, gazing up at the stars with tears in his eyes as he tried to regulate his breathing. He’d not had a panic attack in years at this point, and did not want to break his streak now, not when they were somewhere safe. 

“You’re going to freeze out there Nicky,” a familiar voice scolded with clear exasperation. “Get inside.” 

He turned, managing to give Andy a faint smile. “It’s not freezing,” he protested. “Not yet.” 

Andy rolled her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. She looked annoyed, yet there was a hint of humour around her eyes. “You have bare feet, Nicolò,” she said dryly. “Get in here.” 

He thought about arguing, wanting to stay outside where he felt at peace, but knew she would just come out and drag him inside if he ignored her. And he didn’t want to risk her health, not now. 

She frowned at him when he closed the sliding glass door, warm hands cupping his cool cheeks. “Come,” she finally said. “Back to bed with you.” 

The breath froze in his throat. “I can’t,” he admitted softly, still conscious of Joe and Nile sleeping on the floor above them. 

Andy gave him a knowing look, but still pulled him up the stairs, snagging another blanket on the way. She pushed him into her room instead of into the master bedroom he shared with Joe (at her instance), prodding him until he sat on the bed. She took the still too hot tea from his, setting it on the bedside table absently. He frowned at it. She had put it straight on the wood instead of on the coaster. It was going to damage the furniture. 

She got into bed beside him, pulling him down to lie facing her. He breathed out slowly, putting the mug from his mind and letting her pull the blankets over his cold form. If she wanted to ruin her furniture that was fine with him. 

“You’re worrying too much,” she told him. “You’ve been taking care of me, of Joe, and of Nile. Girl’s going to start calling you papa soon.” 

He laughed weakly. “What does that make you then?” he teased shakily. 

She rolled her eyes, pulling him closer. She was his height, though more slender, but still managed to pull him to her chest and make him feel small and safe. She always had. He could still remember meeting her, all those years ago. He and Yusuf had settled in Athens when they’d realised the two women were on their way to them. Nicky had met Andy first. Yusuf had gone to the port once they'd realised the women were near, while he himself had gone to the market. He’d bought pastries from an older woman who liked to pinch his cheeks, and when Andy had approached him with a blank look he’d offered her one wordlessly, before allowing himself a smile. 

They’d gone to the inn the two women had rented, waiting for Quynh to return and talking. He’d been more than a little intimidated by Andy, but found her to be a wealth of information, and easy to bribe with more pastries. Quynh had found them laughing and drinking wine, looking like old friends. That alone had endeared him to Quynh, he knew. They’d left the inn for the small home Nicky and Joe, then Nicolò and Yusuf, were renting, finding Yusuf making supper for the four of them. 

“I feel like that makes me grandma,” she said, a slightly grumpy look on her face. 

“At least Nile never assumed you were my mother,” he teased. “Not like Booker.” He winced after mentioning the other man, swallowing hard. Andy kindly didn’t say anything, but tightened her grip on him minutely. 

“We should have let him keep thinking that,” she mused. 

Nicky pinched her. “People might start thinking that again soon,” he said, feeling the breath was punched out of his lungs as he spoke. He couldn’t seem to forget that Andy, someone who had been almost as much of a constant in his life as Joe, was going to grow old and die. Because she would grow old - he would not allow her to die in a fight. 

Andy brushed a strand of hair from his face. It was getting to be that slightly awkward length where it hung in his eyes, but was still too short to even put behind his ears. Joe liked it long though, so he would gladly grow it out. He’d never cared what he looked like, so it was no matter to him. Joe always found him to be beautiful, and no one else’s opinion (at least on his looks) mattered to him. 

“Better than people thinking I’m your wife,” she snorted. She much preferred to be his older sister if they needed to travel as a family. Joe was better at playing her husband anyway, if the need arose. He always hammed it up, making them all laugh. 

Nicky allowed the memory of better times to wash over him, before melancholy took him over again. “I don’t want it to be your time,” he told her simply, if childishly. His wants did not matter, not with this. 

“Oh Nico,” she sighed. “I know. But I would much rather it be my time than yours. And we’ll enjoy the time we have left as best we can.” 

He was pouting, he just knew it, and hated it. But he could not wipe the look off his face, not given the circumstances. Andy’s eyes crinkled at the corners with a faint smile as she stroked his hair back again. He could not imagine life without her, nor did he want to. He would always have Joe, yes, and Nile was wonderful, but Andy was the older sister he had never had, a companion and protector for nearly a thousand years. Life without her was unimaginable. 

He sat up suddenly. “Let me check how you’re healing,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes, clearly wanting to protest, but allowed him to fuss. Nicky always tried to keep his medical knowledge up to date, having needed it time and time again on missions. He just had never expected to need it for _Andy_ of all people. 

He studied the healing bullet wound carefully, checking for signs of infection with an almost paranoid intensity. He’d managed to get any medical supplies needed, as well as antibiotics, with Copley’s help, and had been militant about making sure she was alright. She was taking his fussing in bad grace, but allowing it, so he could not complain. He let her shirt fall back down, satisfied. 

She just raised an arm, pulling him back against her side. It brought back memories of both better and worse times, times when they had not been able to risk a fire, when he and Joe, as well and Andy and Quynh, would all curl up together to avoid freezing to death. And after Quynh’s loss… well, they’d held each other through their pain as often as Andy would allow. 

“Sleep Nico,” she ordered, voice almost soft. “You won’t have any more nightmares tonight.” 

He huffed a small laugh, knowing she could not prevent his nightmares, but nevertheless allowed himself to rest once more, feeling safe and warm as he always did with her. 

**_###_ **

**_Silesia, 1741_ **

He was ready for all of the pain to stop. 

War was getting worse. Perhaps not more frequent, but the weapons were only becoming more destructive with time, and humanity’s capacity for violence seemed to somehow be increasing. He knew, logically, that that wasn’t necessarily true, but it did not change his feelings. All he wanted to do was retreat back somewhere peaceful with Joseph and Andrea, somewhere far away from all this war and pain. 

Joseph, who had gained the trust of Maria Theresa, the Holy Roman Empress, was now travelling in her retinue, trying to both help her and keep her in check. Nicholas did not envy him. Maria Theresa was a formidable woman, to say the least. She did not like Joseph, per say, but she trusted his council. That was more than they could have hoped for. 

But it hurt, being separate from Joseph, even if it had only been a week. 

He shucked off his damp coat, hanging it by the fire tiredly. He desperately wanted a bath, but knew that would be frivolous of him. He settled for washing himself with cold water, before redressing in trousers and a loose top of Joseph’s. It was slightly too large on him, but he wanted the comfort. He settled onto the worn sofa, intent on pouring over maps once again, when he heard Andrea returning, swearing softly as she shucked off her own coat. He got up immediately, getting some more water ready for her. It would not be hot, not yet, but he’d had it over the fire so it would at least be warm. They may not fall ill often, but he did not want to risk it. 

She washed the mud off easily, before turning to grab the wine. He wrinkled his nose at it. It was shit wine, and he’d much rather not drink it. 

Andrea rolled her eyes, cuffing him on the back of the head. “You’re too picky,” she informed him. 

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but that means there's more wine for you.” 

She raised her cup, taking a large swig, before throwing herself onto the sofa, eyeing him carefully. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. 

Nicholas shrugged again. Nothing was wrong, not really. He had not been hurt, was warm enough given the circumstances, and his belly was full. He had no reason for feeling so morose, even with Joseph gone. But he was feeling strangely anxious and uncomfortable. Half of him wanted to pace, while the other half just wanted to sleep for a week, allowing this war to pass him by. 

“It’s nothing,” he finally replied. “I simply tire of pointless wars.” 

Andrea eyes him suspiciously, guessing there was more to it even though there was not. 

He smiled at her, sitting down on the sofa as well. “Truly,” he said. “Nothing’s happened. I’m just a little off today.” 

She sat up further, brushing a hand over his cheek with a worried look on her face. He leaned into her touch, eyes slipping closed. He did not know how she had spent countless centuries fighting. He was exhausted after not even 700 years. 

“And,” she added, “I imagine you miss Joseph. I do as well.” 

He huffed a small laugh. He always missed Joseph when he was not around, and desperately wanted to feel his love’s arms around him, but that was not what was bothering him, not now. 

Andrea’s gaze softened. “Come here,” she ordered, pulling his head down to rest against her shoulder. Nicholas went easily, letting out an exhausted sigh. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss into his hair. “You don’t need to be strong for me Nicholas,” she informed him quietly. “Ever. You are, and always have been, the heart of us all. Don’t try to push that part of yourself down.” She tightened her grip. “I would be lost without you.”

He pushed closer to her, feeling his eyes begin to tear up despite himself. He knew Andrea loved him, he really did, but she did not often speak of it. Especially not since Quynh’s loss. “We’d all be lost without you,” he countered. 

She remained silent for a long while. “Perhaps,” she finally responded enigmatically. “But we’re not going to worry about that. What you’re going to do is sleep.” 

He moved to sit up, before she stopped him with a glare. “I have maps to go over!” he protested, knowing he was perilously close to whining but not caring. 

She pinched his side. “I’ll look them over,” she said. “You need sleep. I don’t need Joseph coming after me when he realises I’ve let you become overtired.” 

Nicholas rolled his eyes, but settled back against her warm shoulder. “You make me sound like a toddler,” he complained. 

“To me you are,” she immediately said, humour in her tone. “Now sleep Nicholas. I’ll wake you up when I need you.” 

He considered arguing further, wanted to help her and not just sleep while she stayed up and worked, but also knew it was pointless to argue with her, especially not about this. She’d occasionally get it into her head that she needed to be protective of him, and sometimes even Joseph, and there was nothing he could do to snap her out of it except comply. And really, he did need the sleep. 

“You promise you’ll wake me?” he asked, moving to put his head on her lap. 

She looked down at him, running a slender hand through his hair. “Sure,” she said easily. Nicholas didn’t believe her for a second. “Sleep Nicky,” she ordered. 

He rolled his eyes at her, just because he could, before settling down to sleep, trusting her to watch over him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had another whole section, but it was a little bit political given what's going on today, so I ended up deleting it and leaving it as pure fluff. I mean, I _liked_ the section, but yeah. Not that type of fic. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. little brothers are little shits, no matter how old they are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the super long wait for this chapter! Thank you all for sticking with me, and I hope this last chapter is worth it :)

**_Early 90’s - The Balkans_ **

Andy swallowed down her frustration with difficulty 

There was nothing they could do. Booker was right to want to leave. Even Joe, the one who would typically want to stay and help long after it was sensible, thought that the mission was useless. 

Nicky, however, disagreed. 

“We can help, Andy,” he insisted, face set in a obstinate expression. One she knew all too well. It was a mixture of stubborness, determination, and the unshakable belief that he was right. And he was, in a way. But  _ helping _ would not be enough, and would only lead to more pain for them. 

More pain for Nicky. 

And Andy refused to let him, or the rest of their family, go through that. 

“Nicky,” she said softy, cupping his cheeks in her hands. He was too thin - they had not been able to get enough food lately, and what little food they did get went to starving families that would otherwise die. Joe and Booker had taken to keeping their beards longer, hiding their sharp cheekbones. Nicky, however, had always disliked the feel of facial hair and only had a light dusting of scruff. It made his gauntness all the more apparent. 

She knew she did not look much better. 

But something about seeing _ her boys _ hurting was impossibly difficult for her. Especially Nicky.

Booker was a large man, and had been older when he had first died. He had never wanted her (or Joe or Nicky) to be there for him in the way she and Quynh had been for Nicky and Joe. And while she considered Joe to be her younger brother as well, there was still something about Nicky that made her want to bundle him up and keep him safe. 

Even from himself. 

“Nicky,” she said again, gently moving his lank hair off of his pale face. “We cannot help. Not like this. We need to regroup, and try again.” 

He frowned at her, studying her face intently. She let him, knowing he needed to come to his own conclusion. They had been in similar situations before, over their long years, and Nicky knew as well as she did that they needed to leave. 

He finally sighed, a single tear falling from his eye. She wiped it away easily, pulling him close to rest their foreheads together in sheer relief. 

“People are dying, Andy,” he said in a long dead language. 

She moved one hand to cup the back of his neck tightly. “I know,” she whispered in the same tongue. For they were. All for another war. “I know, Nicolò. But we cannot keep going on like this. You know that as well as I do. You’re just being stubborn.” 

He chuckled slightly, as she hoped he would. “And you’re not?” 

“Not in the slightest,” she retorted easily. 

He swallowed hard, and nodded. “We need to help somehow though,” he said plaintively. 

She pulled away slightly, looking in his tired eyes. “And we will,” she said simply. “But not like this.” 

Joe finally spoke up, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning against in an exhausted slump. “We’ll figure something out, love,” he said in his soft voice. “We always do.” 

Nicky raised a slightly disbelieving eyebrow, knowing as well as she did, as they all did, that that was not strictly speaking true. 

Joe ploughed on, ignoring his lover’s expression. “Come,” he said, putting an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “We all need rest. I haven’t seen you with dark circles this impressive in years.” 

Booker snorted, looking past exhausted himself. “They are impressive,” he agreed. 

“Yours aren't much better!” Joe teased. The poor man was utterly exhausted, Andy knew, yet still trying desperately to help everyone else. Andy truly did not know what she had done to deserve Joe. Or Nicky. 

She met Booker’s eyes and knew he felt the same. 

“Come on then,” she sighed, shaking Nicky slightly. He gave her a small smile, love clear in his green eyes. “We need to find somewhere to sleep.” 

“I have a contact in a nearby town,” Booker said immediately, flipping through a threadbare notebook with a frown. “That should buy us some time to figure out what to do next.” 

“As long as we can lie down I’ll be happy,” Joe said, looking barely awake. Andy wasn’t sure if he was holding Nicky up with his embrace, or if Nicky was holding him up they were so intertwined. She fought back a swell of emotion at the sight. Even though they were wearing modern clothing the image of them standing there together, tired but so in love and trying so hard to put some  _ good _ into the wretched world, reminded her of better times. 

“Agreed,” she said, nodding to Booker. “Let’s move out.” 

She could reminisce on more peaceful days later. For now she had to look after her family. 

**_###_ **

**_Early 2020 - Belgium_ **

Nile watched as Andy glared at Nicky, who was still badgering her into eating and drinking something other than black coffee or alcohol. Joe had offered to cook something, but backed off when Andy had shaken her head resolutely. Nicky, it seemed, was ignoring her (brave of him) or somehow hadn’t got the memo. He did pretend he didn’t understand English quite often, even though Nile  _ knew _ he was perfectly fluent. 

He said something in Italian, his already amazing eyes wide and bright, and Andy visibly softened, just a touch. 

“Amazing, isn’t it?” 

Nile jumped, surprised to see Joe at her shoulder. She’d been too wrapped up in watching the other two to even notice him. 

“I’m surprised Andy hasn’t killed him yet,” she admitted, watching as Nicky continued to talk to her in a voice that seemed perilously close to a whine. He’d switched to some language that Nile didn’t recognise, but the tone was reminding her of something. Or of someone. She just couldn't put her finger on who. 

Joe laughed slightly, watching Andy and Nicky was a soft smile on his face. “She’s never killed him,” he told her matter of factly. 

Nile gaped at him for a moment. “She knocked me out, shot me in the head, and broke a few of my bones within a couple hours of meeting her,” she said dryly. 

Joe nodded serenely. “She slashed Booker’s throat when she met him,” he told her. “And while Nicky and I met her and Quynh under relatively peaceful circumstances, she’s killed me several times as well.” He paused, head tilted to the side as though he was trying to remember something. “I think perhaps three times? Twice were strategic though, so I don’t hold those against her.” 

Nile’s lips twitched in amusement. “How many times did she kill Booker, in total?” 

“Nine,” Joe answered promptly. “And came close to killing him sixteen other times. Booker was… trying at the beginning. And it took some time for him to learn to fight with us.” 

She looked back over to Nicky. Andy had moved to the sink to rinse her glass, and the man had draped an arm over her shoulders. He kissed her on the cheek, laughing happily when she elbowed him gently. She splashed water at him, but he only kissed her again, still murmuring under his breath. 

“She’s really never killed him?” 

“I think she’s cut him once, and that was an accident. She apologised for a week.” 

“Now you’re shitting me.” 

Joe shook his head, still watching the other two members of their little family indulgently. Nicky had apparently won the argument, and was chopping some vegetables and ordering Andy to get some flour down from the cupboard.

“Pasta Nile?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. 

“Yes please!” she answered immediately, always up for Nicky’s cooking. Joe nodded eagerly beside her, clearly agreeing. He said something in Arabic, making Nicky’s small smile melt into something incredibly soft. 

Andy rolled her eyes, but ruffled Nicky’s hair gently. It was longer now, hanging over his ears, and between the three of them they’d convinced him not to cut it. He pushed her away, scowling playfully. 

“Oh my god,” Nile muttered, a laugh bubbling in her throat. 

Joe put a hand on her shoulder, looking concerned. “Nile?” 

“I know we talk about being a family,” she said, “but they’re  _ literally _ siblings. My brother used to give me that exact same look if I annoyed him. I loved it.” 

Joe laughed loudly. “Nicky is her favourite,” he agreed. “Always has been. The first time she killed me was after Nicky and I argued about something, I’m not sure about what anymore. We both went off separately to cool down. Andy found him and took a  _ great _ deal of offence that I’d made him cry.” 

Nile watched his face, and barely resided the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s been what, 800 years since that argument? And you  _ still _ feel guilty? That’s love man.” She watched as Andy hip checked Nicky hard enough to knock him off balance, before pouring him a glass of wine when he  _ pouted _ at her. Actually pouted. She wondered how she’d never noticed this before. 

Even at the beginning they had seemed like a family to her. Andy had spoken of Joe, Nicky, and even Booker, highly, and with clear affection. She had been willing to give up her life to get Joe and Nicky back from Merrick, and even after realising Booker’s betrayal she had obviously loved the much younger man. 

But it was only now that they’d spend time simply  _ being _ \- time not on a mission or training - that Nile realised just how much of a family they were. 

It made Nile feel better about spending her immortal life with them. 

“Have they always been like this?” she asked Joe, leaning closer into his warm side. He draped an arm over his shoulders, hugging her gently. 

“Right from the start,” Joe confirmed in a cheerful tone. “Quynh as well. Nicky was incredibly shy for several centuries,” he explained with a fond smile. 

Nile looked over to the other man, watching as he mixed something while talking to Andy in a low voice. He didn’t seem shy to her, not now, but he was definitely more introverted than Joe or Andy. He spoke confidently and easily, and was certainly not afraid to make his views known, but he was not loud in his personality, not like she could be, or like Joe was more often than not. He seemed content to watch and listen for the most part (though when he spoke it was prudent to listen), especially when his husband spoke. 

“So... what?” she asked, trying to imagine a young and shy Nicky. “Quynh and Andy protected him? And you?” 

Joe pulled her closer, maneuvering her until she was leaning with her back against his strong chest. “They protected both of us,” he said, voice soft in her ear. “Though Andy has always had a soft spot for Nicky.”

“You never minded?” 

Joe chucked warmly in her ear, his chest rumbling with the sound. “Not all all,” he said. “Before Booker came alone, he was the youngest, even if I am only three years older than him. We traveled together for centuries. The thought of him being the baby of the family stuck, much to his annoyance at times.” 

Nile grinned. Three years should be nothing, especially considering how long they’d lived, but Nile knew  _ she _ would make a big deal out of it, just to be annoying. She found it extremely amusing that someone as old as Andy (or as old as Quynh) had done the same to Nicky. 

“It’s adorable,” she declared, smiling so widely it hurt. 

And it was. Nicky was saying something to Andy in a low voice, gesticulating wildly. Andy was watching him with an expression in her eyes that Nile had seen on her own mothers face when watching her and her younger brother. Exasperation, love, and pride, all mixed into one. 

Joe chuckled again before releasing her. “It certainly is!” he agreed. He kissed the top of her head before moving into the kitchen, gathering Nicky into a hug before he snatched a cherry tomato from a nearby bowl. Nicky swatted his hand with a scowl. 

“Come help, kid,” Joe called, eyes twinkling happily. 

Nile joined the others easily, feeling incredibly loved at their easy acceptance of her into their lives. They had all made an effort to welcome her, to ensure she was comfortable and that she wanted for nothing, even when they had clearly been grieving and recovering themselves. 

“I’ll get in the way,” she protested. She could cook, yes, but Nicky and Joe were both phenomenal in the kitchen. She didn’t want to mess anything up. 

Nicky smiled sweetly at her, and gestured for her to come closer. She laughed internally, but eagerly went to his side. He spoke to her softly, eyes warm, and slowly taught her how to make a proper pesto genovese. Andy, being Andy, interjected every once in a while, but Nile didn’t mind. It was like being teased by an older cousin or something. It was warm and welcome, and made her feel right at home. 

Especially when Andy rolled her eyes dramatically at something Nicky said, his tone fond and teasing, making Joe cackle louddy. Andy slid off the counter, smacking Joe upside the head and ruffled Nicky’s shaggy hair, before pulling out the wine. 

“Nile?” she asked, one eyebrow raised in question. “You’ll need it to deal with those two.” 

“Hey!” 

Nile laughed aloud at Joe’s reaction, accepting the wine from Andy. Nicky simply kissed Andy on the cheek, eyes soft. 

Nile moved back to watch him make the pasta, slowly becoming more confident as she helped more. She’d watched Nicky and Joe both make pasta from scratch before, but hadn’t dared to do it herself yet. 

“Looks good,” Andy said, peaking over Nicky’s shoulder. 

He shoved her away playfully, saying something in a language Nile did not recognise. She assumed from the intonation it was some form of Arabic, but she wasn’t actually sure. 

Andy backed off, moving to sit at the kitchen table with Joe as Nile and Nicky finished with the pasta. 

“Like this?” Nile asked, fiddling with the dough. 

Nicky nodded beside her, “Yes, exactly Nile,” he said in slow Italian. She was getting better at understanding it everyday, though still had trouble when he or Joe spoke too quickly. 

“I’ll finish up,” he said, eyes kind. “You go sit and enjoy your evening.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve got this,” she said firmly. “You and Joe cook for me all the time, you go sit and relax. You can direct from the table.” 

He watched her for a long moment, studying her face, before breaking into a rare grin. “Thank you,  _ sorellina _ . I appreciate it.” 

She finished the pasta easily, taking the time to watch Andy and Nicky interact. She’d watched them before, of course, but not before realising just how much they reminded her of her and her brother. It made her nostalgic, but also incredibly happy. Joe, she could tell, felt the same. He was watching his husband and Andy with a besotted expression on his handsome face. 

Nile still may be adjusting to her odd new life, may still be missing her family with an intensity that made her feel physically ill, but she knew everything would work out. 

Especially when she had a new family like this. A little broken, a little messy, but overall incredibly loving. She couldn't wait to spend her immortality with them. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading and please please please let me know what you thought it this _extremely_ fluffy and self indulgent little series. 
> 
> Cheers!


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